


The Return

by Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Klance is focus, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, M/M, Season Six Fit-It, everyone else is background - Freeform, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs/pseuds/Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs
Summary: Lance is so deeply convinced he's still alone, until he spends some time with Red and discovers an Altean pod in the hangar.ORI didn't like it when Keith came back older, cooler, and grizzled and unable to hug Lance, so I made it happen myself.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening fellow frogs! This is my first fic ever, so please, be kind. This is purely self indulgent, so I know it's going to be a little weird. I hope you like what I've written, please enjoy, and happy Klance-ing!

If he were still on Earth, Lance is pretty sure it would be about one in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to feel very tired. Lance wanders the cold halls of the Castleship at odd times simply because he can, and simply because he can’t think of anything better to do. Lance shivers, curling in on himself, and letting his eyes slip closed for a brief moment, but no relief comes of it. He’s hungry, skipped another lunch and dinner, but he can’t bring himself to eat. He’s not particularly happy with the position he’s filled. He’s become brooding, more quiet than the Earth version of himself. Lance discovers that he’s more goal oriented, driven by the outcome of every one of his battles and training sessions than anything Allura tells him he’ll get out of it.  
‘Ever since Keith’s left…’ Lance cuts himself off before he can delve too deeply into that. Keith was gone, and he could do nothing about that. No matter how long he waited in the lower hangars, no matter how often he checked his coms, nothing was going to change. Keith was gone, and it wasn’t Lance’s fault, he just had to trust that. 

After passing by the central command room several times, Lance decides that maybe the soft images of Red would help him. He was lonely, always awake late at night and exhausted during the day, pulled away from the others by his horrific sleep schedule whether he liked it or not. Well, Lance liked to blame it on that, but he knew that he was falling behind: Shiro reminded him of that regularly. Something… something wasn’t right with Lance, that had to be it. He spent hours training, beating his own records in the shooting range, and slowly gaining levels against the Gladiator, he decimated Galra in the heat of battle, and even then, he returned to the Castleship with the others and found that his achievements were unimpressive, anticlimactic. Maybe he was too loud, overcompensating for his failures elsewhere. Allura was annoyed often with him, more than she usually was, and that made Lance nervous; they’d always been close, his light teasing meant to help her relax, because even if she was technically ten thousand years old, she was still so young, and didn’t deserve all of the burdens that weighed her down. She used to laugh at Lance’s over-dramatic comments and fake flirting, affectionately shaking her head and continuing her day with her step a little lighter. But now, anything Lance said seemed to irk her. He wasn’t trying to offend her or frustrate her, honest! It was just that the Castleship was too quiet, and he liked to compensate for that. Perhaps he should lay off, just a little. Even Pidge grew tired of his antics, her exasperated head shakes and far too accurate taunts were starting to get to him. Yes, there must be something wrong with him if everyone seemed so tired of him. He even felt he couldn’t keep up with Hunk, his best buddy, his closest of bros, because ever since Matt came back, their conversations grew so deep and scientifically relevant, and Lance couldn’t even pretend to understand. 

Red may be able to help, though, she was always so eager and kind. Red was different from Blue in so many ways. What shocked Lance the most was how strange her presence was compared to Blue's: Blue was gentle, a wash of feelings and vague emotions that resonated deeply with Lance, always made sense to him. But Red, Red was exuberant and harsh in her presentation of thoughts, because she would flood his brain with vibrating colors and shivering images that spoke loud, so very loud in the busy hum of his brain. Red was kind, though, and her care for Lance was so similar to Blue’s, and perhaps that’s why they connected so easily. Red knew that Lance loved her, and Lance knew it was mutual. Lance also knew that Blue thought of him often, Red told him so. Both lions were so different from one another, but their connection made sense. So now, as Lance finally stood before Red in her glorious bay, he smiled. It may not reach the corners of his eyes and light up his face, but it is safe. Red is safe. She may be a bit abrasive, but she cares so fiercely, so deeply, and Lance wouldn’t have it any other way. She lowers her head to him, and he walks through her mouth to sit in his pilot’s chair, closing his eyes and looking through hers. His mind hears a hundred colors that tell him in that brilliant vermilion,  
“Paladin, you’re here!” Lance sees rich gold, and-  
“Are you unwell? I am here, it is okay,” -slowly, it turns to a shimmering gradient of violet, which ripples against his skull-  
“Do not think ill of yourself, Paladin, never do that,” -green, now there’s green that’s rough and natural and slender like grass-  
“And know that I miss him, too.” - amethyst replaces his pastoral paradise, and there’s flickers of red, purple and black, like a plume of flame at the tip of a candle's wick. It’s warm, delicate, so very alive, but Lance snuffs that flame, ripping his eyes open.  
“Red, I don’t know what you mean,” Lance mutters aloud in the cockpit. He knows Red see’s what he thinks, but sometimes it helps to enforce it by telling her. He closes his eyes again, and can feel something like laughter, blue and glittering deep in his gut, and Red tells him,  
“We all miss him, even sweet Blue. Look, Paladin, and have patience.” That candle lights again in him, somewhere behind his ribs, and it dances behind his eyelids as Red murmurs more vitreous hues of violet and red into his mind. Lance thinks it hurts, Red thinks it’s glorious. There’s wax or blood or some other giver of life streaming into his chest, melting away from the starry sky painted behind his brain, and he tells himself that it hurts. 

It really doesn’t. There’s blue glimmering in his belly again, Red’s laughing again.  
“It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?” She asks as the fire is back-lit by gold. Lance whines and squirms in his chair, arms wrapping around himself, but he makes no move to open his eyes again. He was so wrong to think of the Lions as machines or animals before he met them, because this array of emotions, pictures, and thoughts is the work of a cosmically sentient being, and Red reminds him of that as she fills his body with stars of icey blue and brilliant red. That feeling, that melting, has grown softer, and curls more stably around his lungs and heart, and Lance feels it as he breathes, and bronze orange blankets his closed eyes.  
“You won’t have to wait long. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Lance opens his eyes again, but not so forcefully. The flame dies out, but the wax still simmers in his chest. Lance shakes his head, readjusting in his seat before deciding it’s best to just stand. Red pulls back from his mind, but lingers just at the edge with gradients of rain and red and purple, purple, purple. Yeah, Lance has had enough for now. He doesn’t feel the pang of solitude in his gut, but there’s something else now, in his head. Behind all the wax around his heart, something hurts. His eyes prickle like dark clouds, and soon, rain spills beyond them. He wraps his arms around himself again, and Red rains with him, puddles condensing in the edges of his mind. She lets him out, almost apologetically, and Lance grows cold again. That wax is firming up as if to protect him, but it only cements the ache in his chest. He wanders out of Red’s bay and through the dimly lit halls to the general lower hangar. Electric blue lights hum softly near the vaulted ceiling, the electronics around him throbbing with light. It’s so cold in here, now that Red can no longer light anything in him. Lance wanders around the edges of one of the old Altean pods before finding a solid, shiny metal wall. He approaches it slowly before resting his back against it, sliding down slowly until his body is cradled in dull blue-silver. He’s still crying, and Red with him, a low whine escaping his throat as he curls tight around himself. He shouldn’t be so hurt, it’s his fault he’s falling behind, but all he can see is Shiro, his face pulled taught by frustration as he raises his voice, and Allura, her brows crinkled in genuine annoyance as she sends him away, and Pidge, her incredulous look of exasperation as he fails to laugh at her cruel taunts, and Hunk, too tired to come to his aid. He sees Keith, and his indifferent face as Lance desperately tried to convince him to stay, even though words couldn’t fill his mouth. It was all his fault, and now, Allura would be leaving in a day, or quintant as she referred to it, to gain endless knowledge and power for their cause, and Shiro would remain the rock of Voltron, and Pidge and Hunk would provide aid and advantage to rebels across the galaxy, and Keith had left, two months ago, had been radio silent for weeks, and Lance was awake at two in the morning on a cold hangar floor and pretending that he could do anything for an oppressed universe.

…

Lance barely registers it as the hangar panel beeps with a message, barely acknowledges the code that the ship robotically sends out, barely recognizes the garbled confirmation message the hangar receives. He’s been lying against the far wall of the aerodrome for almost half an hour, roughly twenty-three doboshes, as Red tried to quell the thunder in his skull. He feels like he’s asleep, like nothing he’s doing is really on a physical plane, and maybe too much time with Red showing him things in his brain makes him feel a little too floaty. What does return him to reality is the blare of airlock alarms, loud and abrasive a crude, intelligent red. Lance whimpers, letting his palms rest over his ears as he shifts around, confirming that his bayard rests securely against his hip. He stands groggily, using the pods as cover as he glances around, hearing the hiss of the airlock as it reveals its ship. 

It’s just another pod, albeit an incredibly old one. It’s form isn’t as smooth and rounded as the one Lance hides behind, and the glass of the cockpit isn’t as cleanly tinted. Red offers him an encouraging, familiar purple at the seam of his mind, and Lance morphs his bayard into a broadsword. The doors to the pod groan open, and there’s a few voices that talk over each other within the ship. He hears, “just, just wait in here, it’ll only be for a little” before there’s foot steps. Lance realizes that there’s a Galra in possession of an ancient Altean pod, on the Castleship without anyone else’s knowledge, and the only thing standing between them and the sleeping paladins is Lance. Someone jumps down from the pod’s open doors, clad in midnight purple, so much duller than the one in his mind. There’s neon magenta lights marking the chest, cheeks and eyes, a dark hood thrown over the figure’s head. They’re tall, their legs stout and well muscled, their chest broad, and frustratingly, taller than Lance. Lance grits his teeth, tightening his hold on his sword as the figure reaches up to their hood.  
‘That’s enough of that,’ Lance decides, and sprints out from behind the pod, hands steady on the hilt of his bayard, face hardened in concentration, too tired to emit any sort of battle cry. What comes to be, perhaps, the saddest part of his charge, is when Lance stumbles on his own feet as he sees who the figure is.

That purple, the all-too familiar amethyst, stares back into his inclement eyes, and Lance stops, because something isn’t right. This can’t be happening, because he’s gone, he left, he’s been out of contact with them for weeks. Lance can feel his mouth open partly, his eyes drizzling onto his cheeks again as he retreats into his own body: Lance is an ugly crier, he doesn’t want Keith’s first sight of him in months to be him while he’s broken and in pain and so clearly wrong.  
“No,” he murmurs, his voice embarrassingly high, “no, no, no, no, no…” Lance feels Red gently offer candy reds and turquoise to comfort him, but it can’t stop what’s started. Lance’s cheeks heat up, his eyes, already sore from his previous crying, well up again, and fat tears roll down his face, following the tracks carved by the previous ones. He begins to hiccup, starts to sob, all while taking half-aborted steps backwards. He risks a glance back up at Keith, and he doesn’t know if he should be surprised by what he sees.

Keith is smiling. It’s not very happy, but it's gentle and safe and Keith is safe. Lance fully realizes that Keith is here, back after months of distance, and he looks so different. For one, he’s a good inch or two taller than Lance, and his eyes look tired, not quite old, but older. Lance stands still, and the sound of his breath echoing off of the aerodrome walls is oppressive, and silently begs for Keith to do something, anything. As Lance stills, Keith takes the first steps forward, stiff shoulders growing relaxed, his palms starting to raise. Lance tries to relax his posture, too, and by the time Keith stands in front of him, he’s managed to stand up a little straighter. Keith’s smile is mostly gone, now, but Lance can see tears beading at the corners of those glittering eyes. Lance can’t help but stare, because Keith is back, at three thirty in the morning, Earth time, and he’s so close. From here, Lance can see the flecks of navy and eggplant purple in Keith’s irises, the sclera around them laced with red veins as Keith blinks slowly. He offers a shaky exhale, hands coming to rest gently on Lance’s elbows, and the first drops of rain fall from his eyes. Lance chokes on a sob.

Whenever Lance imagines romantic, tearful reunions, they’re always in the rain, two lovers bent to the will of a storm, lighting a candle amidst the downpour. In its own way, Lance and Keith’s reunion is in the middle of the rain, but rather than falling from clouds, their droplets fall from blue and purple and lacy red. Slowly, Keith’s arms go lower, winding around his waist, and Keith’s chest is only inches from his own.  
“What’s wrong, Sharpshooter?” Keith’s voice is still that messy, gravely timbre that Lance had missed so much, but it’s so much older and well worn, and Lance smiles, too. He shakes his head, starting to pull away, when Keith locks his arms around him. His hold is firm, but his eyes remain passive, vulnerable. Lance can’t remember Keith ever being one to offer weakness like this to anyone, so he considers himself lucky as he relaxes.  
“Just hurting a little, I guess,” Lance offers, sniffing loudly. He knows he’s an ugly crier, but he hopes that Keith doesn’t mind. Keith’s jaw tightens, and so do his arms. They slide Lance closer to where he stands, and Keith can wrap his arms all the way around Lance’s middle, reaching the other side from the back. Keith’s brow furrows sympathetically.  
“I can feel your ribs. Are you alright, really?” Lance focuses on Keith’s boots, the end of the food splitting into two sections, and tries to find it interesting as he softly shakes his head. He finally leans into Keith, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, cautiously tucking his head in the delicate junction between his neck and shoulder. Keith continues to squeeze him tighter. “Don’t worry, Starboy, it’ll be okay.” 

Lance feels weird, like he’s being broken, but in the end, it’s okay, because in the fray of his mind, he hears the flicker of red, amethyst and gold, feels the flame relight in his throat, and the wax soften in his chest. Lance cries, he cries hard and ugly and honest and lights a candle in the rain. Distantly, he feels Keith press his nose into his hair, one hand coming to rest on his lower back, tracing slow, sweet circles over his shirt. Keith is crying, too, Lance thinks. He’s much more quiet about it, but he still feels the occasional tremble in Keith’s breath, and he knows his eyes are just as red.

“I’ve been so lonely,” Lance murmurs through his whimpering. Keith pulls back just enough for them to see each other, and he gives that same sad, safe smile. He shakes his head, hand coming from his lower back to his shoulder, sliding up slowly, thumb passing to rub gently over his Adam’s apple, before letting it rest on his cheek, cradling his lower jaw. His thumb continues to move, wiping away tears from his left eye. “I’ve missed you so much, Keith,” Lance doesn’t want to stop talking now, so he doesn’t, and enjoys the pleasant shift of Keith’s palm as he talks. “You look so different, and it’s been so long.”

“And you look just the same.” Something inside of Keith looks hurt, tired, not old, just older, and Lance doesn’t think he should look as worn as he does. Still, he tries on a smile,  
“Is that a good thing?” Keith smiles wider this time, growing into something really, actually happy, like Lance inspired him or something.  
“I think so.” Keith is so bold, Lance thinks. He’s so confident, and Lance wants to be just like him. He knows that he can’t, he and Keith will never quite be the same, but it’s a nice thought. Instead, he tries to be happy, and the more Keith grins at him, the more real his smile becomes. Lance leans back into him, making himself small, and tucking his head under Keith’s chin. Keith is caught a little off guard by this, but not off put. His hand comes back to rest on Lance’s back, right hand returning between his shoulder blades, the fingers of his left hand ghosting over the small patch of honey brown skin revealed between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his jeans. Keith is tense, but Lance’s affirmative hum lets him relax, fingers tracing back over the base of his spine, Lance leaning farther into Keith’s hold. Keith sways softly on his feet, a murmur of some song Lance has never heard rumbling his throat. They stay like that for a while, just basking in… in something. Lance isn’t quite sure what to call how he feels, but he knows it’s nice, that the soft, melting feeling has returned, and he’s stopped sobbing.

It’s not long before Keith pulls back, holding tight to Lance as he looks him in the eye. He’s still crying, too, but he’s still smiling, eyes shining, burning. Lance smiles back, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. He leans in slowly, pressing his forehead to Lances, his sweaty bangs caught between them, but Lance doesn’t mind too much, because wow, Keith Kogane came back. Lance thinks that he forgot how beautiful Keith was, because he looks up through his lashes and sees Keith’s eyes framed by his own black, feathery eyelashes, the skin over his nose and sharp cheekbones smooth and pale and pretty. Lance tilts his head slightly, letting his nose brush against Keith’s, smiling pleasantly as the feeling. Lance exhaled softly, his breath fanning over Lance’s lips.  
“I’ve missed you, too, Starboy.” Lance smiles again, leaning in and closing that final bit of space between them.

Lance has thought a lot about what it would be like to kiss Keith before, and he’s ashamed to admit it, but this is so much better than what he’s imagined. Kissing Keith is like being with Red or Blue: there’s something deep inside of him stirring, colors and images and emotions that’re so deeply immersive and Lance is melting. He’s kissing Keith Kogane and it’s spectacular. Keith’s lips are dry, but not flaking or bloodied. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed intently, a soft smile tilting his lips. Lance lets his eyes flutter shut, and smiles back. Keith kisses with a force, but not too hard. He pushes his lips gently against Lance’s, soft and slow and content. His left hand continues to run over his exposed skin, his right supporting the middle of his back. Lance hums happily, because he hasn’t been this close to anyone since, since Keith left. He was so lonely, and Keith doesn't fix everything, but it feels so wonderful to be here, with this lovely half-human. He feels like he could do this forever, but he knows that it can’t last. So, Lance revels in the feeling of being held by Keith, cared for so deeply, and he loves it. But like all good things Lance has had recently, this ends. Slowly, Keith leans away, Lance chasing after him, before he finally surrendered and leaned back, too. Keith grinned, soft and honest, and kissed his cheek once before looking him in the eye. He makes a soft noise, eyes patient and imploring. As Lance remained quiet, holding eye contact, Keith furrowed his brows again. He pressed his lips again to his cheek, higher this time, just beneath his eye. He leans back again, furrowing his brows, and when Lance only giggled, he did it again, pressing a kiss to his other cheek, and each time he got no response, he’d put another kiss on a cheek, his forehead, his nose, anywhere he could reach until Lance was laughing softly as Keith moved to look at him again. He glared softly, bumping his nose against Lance’s.  
“Why’re you laughing, Starboy?” Lance laughs louder, shaking his head. Keith pressed another kiss to his forehead.  
“Come on, you gotta tell me.” Another.  
“Tell me.” Another.  
“Lance.” Another.  
“Sharpshooter?” Another.  
“Starboy? What’s so funny?” Lance just cackled, pressing as closely to Keith as he could get.  
“Nothing’s funny, doofus, I’m just happy.” Keith just laughed back, burying his head in Lance’s neck.  
“Good,” he murmured. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

…

By the time they separate, by the time Lance is fully disentangled from Keith, it’s almost four in the morning. He knows they won’t have much time alone together, which is fine. He’ll spend it the best way he can, with Keith, and with Red. They walk the back way to Red’s hangar, before someone can find them. Keith stands before her, hand in hand with Keith, and in the back of his mind, there’s something a little warmer than red, a little cooler than blue, and a little more vibrant than amethyst. When Lance closes his eyes, Red is there, and when he opens them, Keith is there. No, Lance isn’t doing great, but he certainly isn’t broken.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst continues, but at least Lance gets another hug...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fellow frogs!  
> Sorry it's taken a hot minute to get this all finished up, but I hope you enjoy it, and I love to hear from you in the comments.  
> Thank you so much for the support on this fic, I never expected so many people would read it!  
> Happy reading!

When the others rush down into the hangar, Lance and Keith are already back at the pod. Lance stands beside him, fitting easily into Keith’s side as Allura races into the aerodrome. Behind her, Shiro and Lotor file in, followed by a groggy Pidge and Hunk. Distantly, Lance thinks he hears Allura splutter, gaze falling first to the Altean pod, then to Keith, and Lance, and then back to the pod. Lance sees Shiro’s eyes narrow, and Lotor’s fists clench, and Lance grins a bit of a wicked grin, even as he pushes further into Keith’s side. He chooses not to focus on the critical glares of his teammates, and instead on Keith’s radiant face as his devious grin spread across his lips. He looked happy, really, but brittle, and prepared for an onslaught of questions he would likely attempt to dodge.

And dodge questions he did, because within seconds, Shiro was taking long, firm strides until he stopped a mere two feet away from Keith. His brows furrowed, looking more shocked than exited by Keith’s return. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, before saying slowly,

“You’re back?” The corners of Keith’s mouth twitched again, and he slowly stepped away from Lance. He grinned, stepping towards his brother, his hand extended as he whispered,

“Shiro,” Shiro held his forearm, but squeezed it firmly as Keith tried to close the distance between them. “Shiro?” 

“Where have you been, Keith?” Shiro’s voice isn’t as gentle as it usually was with Keith, and Keith seemed to notice it. A muscle in Keith’s jaw jumps, and he slowly releases his hold on Shiro’s arm, letting it drop loosely to his side. Lance knows this look, knows that Keith is thinking hard. He exhales, a little more forcefully than he usually does.

“Shiro, I found someone.” Smart, Lance thinks. Keith still won’t tell anyone where he went, and Lance knows that he’ll avoid doing so for as long as he can. He doesn't know  _ why _ Keith is so keen on avoiding everyone, but as Keith slowly retreats back to Lance is pleased to find that Keith at least may not pull away from him. Shiro takes another step closer, and Lance feels Keith grow tense, his shoulders pushing farther back as he works to keep his face still. Lance brushes his fingers cautiously against the back of Keith’s gloved hand, gaze turning to Keith’s frosty, lilac eyes that are fixed on Shiro. Keith links their pinkies, and stands a little taller.

“Did you bring them with you?” Shiro turns his eyes to the scratched up pod, lingering on the open doors. In the corner of his eyes, Lance sees Lotor whisk out of the room, and Red murmurs bitter greens into his head. 

“Keith, how did you get a hold of a pod this old?” Allura’s voice wobbles slightly, her gaze flicking sporadically about. Keith’s smile grows soft and genuine as his eye’s meet Allura’s, and he leaves Lance’s side again, but keeps their pinkies linked until the last second. He walks slowly, scared to spook the princess, until he stands right before her. He reaches out his palms, and Allura rests her own hands in his.

“It’s a bit of a long story, and one you may not much like.” Lance sees Keith’s hands tighten slightly, and Lance feels warm. Red shows him pink, something affectionate and innocent and something that smells like Earth flowers did. Nothing exotic or exciting about it, but it’s safe and homey and Lance notices the way Red holds on to it. Lance knows that he annoys Allura, but he wants so badly to be close to her again, and he desperately wants to help her. He watches Keith gently drape an arm around her shoulders, walking to the pod together, his eyes catching playfully on Lances as he stands close to the princess. Lance, like the others, follows Keith as they approach the pod. He turns to them, taking Allura’s hand and holding it firmly, and Allura looks close to breaking.

“How-” her voice breaks, and she attempts to steel herself, “Keith, how did you get this pod? It’s got serial numbers from the time of my father.” Keith smiles as best as he can.

“You’ll see, but I need you to know that I found someone important, and I need you to be kind to her, please, Allura.” Confused, Allura nods slowly. 

“Good, good, okay,” Keith turns his head to the pod, and calls out, harsh and loud and distinctly reminiscent of the old Keith, “Krolia! You can come down now!” Lance hears a distinct crash, a vague swear, and hurried footsteps. Keith smiles nervously at them, letting his gaze linger on Lance, before he turns back to the pod. Within seconds, there’s another blade member standing there, and they’ve got at least foot on Keith, making Lance feel distinctly short. They lower their hood, deactivating their mask, and a regal Galra woman is revealed. She’s quite the force to behold, and all that she’s done so far is stumble out of a ship. Her eyes, amethyst, glimmer warm and strong and unwavering in the cold light of the aerodrome. Long, burgundy hair spills over her sharp shoulders, and her glimmering purple lips parting in a brilliant smile, revealing pointed, white teeth, and the distinctly Galra markings over her cheeks curl softly in response to her grin. 

“Um, well, I found- no, I met, no wait, I found my mother.” Krolia, Keith’s  _ mother _ , positively beams,  _ glows  _ in the dull, steely hangar, and she laughs. Red shows pink and purple, shows family and safety and power and will, and Lance can’t even bring himself to be envious. Krolia looks just like Keith, really, and it’s amazing to see so much radiance in such a cold, dimly lit place. Perhaps she is why Keith is so different now: before he’d left, Keith was abrasive and fiery and violent, but now that he’s come back, he’s grown more honed and confident in his actions. Keith is still like fire in so many ways, but he’s learned how to use that. He’s more quiet, more calculated, so effortlessly caring, and so un-Keith-ly affectionate, and Lance can see that in Krolia. As the other’s stare at Krolia in shock, Allura slightly in awe, Lance approaches. He stands before the pod, stands before Krolia as she jumps down, and oh, okay,  _ damn _ . Krolia  _ towers  _ over him, basically dwarfs Lance, a good foot and a half taller than him, and he has to do everything he can not to  _ squeak _ like the tiny mouse he is. Krolia smiles again. She stoops low, until she’s almost nose to nose with Lance, and he feels electricity shoot up his spine. Distantly, he feels Red laugh at him, soft, affectionate blues blossoming in his stomach, and he sends her a thought to be quiet, because technically, she’s short for a lion.

“Krolia, be nice to him.” Over her shoulder, Lance can see Keith smirking at him as Krolia narrows her slender brows. She continues to stare Lance dead in the eye as she says,

“Keith, I didn’t realize that humans would still be so short.” Lance squawked in outrage, puffing out his chest and nearly rising onto his toes as Krolia stood to her full height,

“Hey! I used to be taller than Keith, you know, until he  _ mysteriously disappears _ , and now he’s all taller than me, it’s not my fault you’re seven feet tall-”

“Seven feet, three inches.”

“-What?”

“I said that I’m actually seven feet and three inches tall, Keith measured me.” Lance whined dramatically, curling up and just accepting his smallness.

“You know, if you want to see someone really small, Pidge is like, tiny.” It’s not much of a save, but Lance still feels the need to save himself from the title of ‘short’. Pidge grumbles somewhere behind him, and Krolia’s eyes widen. She’s about to say something, but chooses to instead refocus on Lance. There’s something like a purr starting in her throat, and she reaches out to him softly, holding the inside of his wrist. Lance trembles in his shoes, slowly returning the grip, before Krolia slid her hand up to hold just beneath the crease of his elbow. Lance squeaks. Krolia purrs louder. Still holding Lance’s arm, she turns back to Keith.

“I like this one,” she tells him confidently. Lance looks like he’s about to cry. Keith just smiles softly.

“His name is Lance, mom,” Krolia beams, becomes a radiant being, and turns to Lance again.

“Ah, this is him.” Krolia stoops down to him again, slow and considerate, and that strange rumbling purr grows louder. “You are a strange little human, but you seem sweet. You have lovely eyes, I’ve never seen ones like that.” Lance feels himself flush, briefly unable to form words as Krolia stands again. She’s still holding onto his arm, tugging him along behind her as she comes back to Keith.

“Something’s wrong with this one,” Lance makes a frustrated noise at her comment. “You let me take care of the Alteans and unpack. Take your wolf and find out what’s wrong with him.” Keith finally looks shocked. Took him long enough. Krolia proceeds to gently take Allura’s hand, inspecting her eyes, too, before offering words of encouragement to her. She doesn’t let go of Allura as she turns back to Keith, who has arrived at Lance’s side. She passes Lance’s arm over to Keith, who takes it far,  _ far _ less firmly than Krolia did. There’s a sudden clacking of claws on metal, and a wolf, which comes up to Lance’s waist, lumbers out of the pod, sniffing at him excitedly. Keith smiles, resting his hand atop its head. Now that Krolia’s turned back to Allura, Keith and the wolf start to lead Lance out of the aerodrome.

Keith and Lance take the long way to Red, going all the way up to the bridge of the Castleship before entering her internal port, going through the entire process, Keith’s wolf jogging behind them, before finally dismounting the speeder and walking up to Red. She is so potently warm, deep satisfaction filling Lance’s mind through deep hues of rumbling sunflower yellow and purple. Lance smiles, and his mind fills with the smell of rain, and the sound of grey. Gently, Keith squeezes his arm, and Lance turns to find he’s smiling with equal radiance. Slowly, Keith’s brows furrow, a soft noise escaping his throat, before he closes his eyes, loosening his grip on Lance. His exhale is one of relief.

“I can feel them again,” Keith’s voice is filled with reverence. “The Black Lion, I can feel them. They’re… they’re not upset.” Lance shakes his head fondly.

“They could never be upset with you, Keith. You were a good leader, even if it was only for a little while.” Keith sighs, and Lance feels violet bubble in his throat. Red is so pleased to see her paladins standing before her. She lowers her head and opens her mouth and Lance starts towards her.

“Come on,” Keith looks nervous, and Lance tries to dispel that. “She wants to see you, she’s missed you. There’s nothing to worry about.” Keith hesitates, but eventually follows, his wolf quick on his heels. Red is practically vibrating by the time they make it to her cockpit, highlighter yellow flashing in front of deep navy, and Lance tries to soothe her in his mind. Keith is in awe, the comfortable feeling of being in Red again clear on his features, and gently runs his hands over her panels. He turns to Lance, eyes glittering.

“Sometimes,” he breathes, the thump of his wolf’s tail in the background. “I wonder why I ever left this place.” Lance realizes how close together they are, so takes Keith’s hand in his, and presses their foreheads together. 

“It doesn’t matter  _ why _ you left, only that you came back.” Keith’s laugh is shallow but honest, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He brushes their noses together before pulling back.

“Wait here, will you? I’ll be right back, okay?” Lance feels a little lost, but nods his head, and Keith scrambles out of Red.

…

When he comes back, he’s got the clothes he used to wear, and Lance thinks that he looks beautiful, if not a little uncomfortable. He’s grown, and his typical grey shirt is drawn tight across his chest, his black jeans limiting his awkward steps. He smiles, though, and offers Lance a packet of water and some strange, blue-grey fruit before coming behind him and cautiously placing his hands on his waist.

“You feeling okay?” Keith’s voice is patient, not like Shiro’s demands over the past week to respond, to be okay no matter what, or like Allura’s passive inquiries, simply polite, but never concerned. “It’s okay if you’re not, but we should probably talk.” Lance nods, holding the water and fruit tighter before turning in Keith’s arms and hiding his face in his neck.

“I want to be okay, but I don’t know anymore. Why’d your mom say something was wrong with me?” Keith tightened his arms around Lance, and smiled into his hair.

“She’s pretty good with reading people, even if she can’t hold an easy conversation. She probably means no offense by it, Krolia’s a little more blunt than you would expect.” Lance shook his head.

“As soon as she started talking, I knew she’d be rather straight-forward.” Keith’s laugh was soft, and Lance felt his chest heave slightly with it. He pulled back just a little, only enough to look Lance in the eye.

“She’s helped me a lot, I don’t feel as on edge as I used to. We still have a long way to go, what with being paladins and all, but at least I know that I’m doing my part.”

“Does this mean that you’re staying?” Keith’s smile was bitter.

“Maybe, I don’t really know how much time I have before Krolia contacts Kolivan, and I don’t know if they’ll want me back on duty again.”

“That’s enough, you’re here now.” Lance’s words were firm, but not harsh, tears beading in the corners of his eyes again. Keith’s dark brows furrowed. He pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead, and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long, I didn’t mean to leave you not knowing what was going on.” Lance shakes his head again, and doesn’t bother with trying to figure out words.

“It doesn’t sound like the others have been easy on you, yeah?” Lance grew still, before shoving his face in Keith’s chest again. He was embarrassed, his ears flushed and his face hot, his stomach roiling uncomfortably. It felt nice to have Keith so concerned about him, but he shouldn’t need all this coddling: he was the red paladin of Voltron, he should be able to take care of himself. Keith didn’t seem to mind, though, and simply squeezed Lance tighter.

“It’s alright, Lance. You’re so strong, I’m proud of you, you know.” Lance made a pitiful, high pitched noise. His mind danced with a prism of colors, Red unable to decide on which shade of agreement and satisfaction she felt, but he knew that Red was pleased with Keith’s words.

“M’sorry,” he whined. He shouldn’t need Keith’s validation like he did, but it felt so wonderful to have that reassurance. Keith shook his head, bringing a hand to Lance’s head, holding it gently.

“Don’t be sorry, Starboy, loneliness hurts. It’s going to be alright, I want to help.” Lance whined, again, pressing his cheek more firmly against Keith.

“I don’ know if I deserve it…” Lance trailed off, shame covering him like a blanket as he closed his eyes tightly. Keith gently cupped his cheek, raising his face up as he murmured,

“What are you talking about? Lance, you were my right hand, you stuck by me even when I was an absolute idiot and nearly split up the team, and you’ve always been there for anyone who needs help. You deserve this, and you deserve so much more. You shouldn’t be stuck out here, because you  _ deserve better _ , but we can at least make the best out of this situation.” Keith’s thumb passes slowly over his crinkled eyelid. It rubbed at his temple, and slowly, Lance willed himself to open his eyes, even as dark spots clouded his vision. Keith beamed.

“See, Starboy? You just gotta take care of yourself, and you’ll see, you deserve  _ so much more _ .” Lance nodded, snuffling, and frustrated because  _ dang it _ !- he really is an ugly crier, and he didn’t want to do this again. Keith didn’t seem to mind, though, and ran his thumbs under his eyes before pressing their lips together again. Keith made Lance feel safe. Not dependent, no, Lance was still his own person, but Keith always encouraged him to do better, even if their bond started out as a petty rivalry. Lance was so relieved that Keith had returned, because Keith always had his back. Lance let the fruit and water fall to the ground, wrapping his arms more securely around Keith’s neck as the taller of the two raised his head, lovely amethyst eyes so full of light, mirrored all around Red within his mind, and Keith offered a gentle smile.

“I’m so proud of you, Lance.”


End file.
